


The Adventure of The Lady Detective and The Writer

by mldrgrl



Series: Adventures of The Lady Detective and The Writer [1]
Category: Californication (TV), The Fall (TV)
Genre: F/M, One Night Stands, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 06:12:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7833427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mldrgrl/pseuds/mldrgrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hank is in London for a book signing.  Stella happens to be trolling a hotel bar when he catches her eye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Adventure of The Lady Detective and The Writer

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [女警探與作家的冒險](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13448274) by [amamitouko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amamitouko/pseuds/amamitouko)



Stella Gibson had been an hour at the hotel bar with very little prospect. She was nearly finished with her second glass of wine and was about to give up hope for the evening when he walked in. It was obvious he was American. Obvious in how he moved and how he was dressed. He carried himself with confidence, but also with a casual swagger lacking in any pretenses. He was good-looking and he probably knew it, which gave him the freedom to be himself and get away with it. His hair was dark and messy and he could stand a shave, but the five o’clock shadow added to the appeal.

 

He wore a leather jacket over a black t-shirt, dark glasses hanging off the collar, low-slung jeans resting on slim hips. He liked labels and he liked to look good, but he also liked to be comfortable. The leather looked well-worn and expensive. If she had to guess, she’d say he had quite a bit of money, but was frivolous with it.

 

He ordered a Glenlivet from the bartender and took the drink over to an empty table in the far corner of the room. He sprawled out in the plush chair, scanning the room as he sipped casually from his glass. He didn’t seem impatient, didn’t glance anxiously at the entrance as though waiting for another party to arrive. He simply seemed content to watch the room. She didn’t wait for him to notice her first. She picked up her wine and slipped off her barstool to make her way to his table.

 

“Are you alone?” she asked, presumptuously setting her wine glass on the small mahogany table to remove her blazer.

 

“Depends on who’s asking,” he answered, cocking his head as he looked up. She was right. American.

 

“I am.” She draped her blazer over the back of the empty chair and sat down. She didn’t look at him as she adjusted the cuffs of her rose-colored silk blouse, but waited until she’d picked up her drink and sat back in the chair to make eye contact.

 

“Come here often?” he asked.

 

“Rarely.”

 

“I guess that makes it my lucky day.”

 

“Perhaps,” she said, noncommittally, taking a slow sip of her wine.

 

“My name’s Hank,” he said, rolling an ice cube from his drink inside his cheek. She didn’t reply and watched the way his lips puckered as he sucked on the cube before crunching it between his teeth. “And you are?” he prompted, after the extended silence.

 

“Stella.”

 

He chuckled into his glass. “Stellaaaaaaaaa,” he exclaimed in a whisper, feigning agony. She kept her gaze neutral and he swallowed, putting his glass down on the table. “Tennessee Williams,” he said.

 

“Yes, I’m familiar.”

 

“What do you do, Stella?”

 

“I’m a detective superintendent.”

 

“Is it your business to know what other people don’t?”

 

She raised an eyebrow at him, impressed. “It’s not with terrible frequency that I come across a man who can so easily quote from Sherlock Holmes. Especially an American.”

 

“I’m a writer.”

 

“Come to London to seek inspiration?”

 

“My latest novel hit the bestseller list for the first time in the UK. My agent thought it would behoove me to cross the pond and do a few signings.”

 

“Has it behooved you?”

 

“Not until now.” He held her gaze. Most men looked away from her when she stared, too intimidated to last. Hank seemed unfazed, maybe even a little amused, judging from the faint smile on his lips. He had a cultivated charm that he most likely relied heavily on to get him what he wanted. He probably thought he was irresistible most of the time.

 

“I’m not interested in flattery,” she said.

 

“What are you interested in?”

 

She took another sip of her wine, which effectively drained the glass.

 

“Can I get you another?” he asked.

 

“I don’t think that will be necessary.” She pushed her fingers through her blonde hair and tossed it over her shoulders.

 

She had already made up her mind to sleep with him, no need to delay the inevitable and prolong the banter any further. She trusted that Hank was every bit as willing as she was and she reached back into the pocket of her blazer to pull out her extra room key and slid it across the table.

 

“908,” she said, standing and shrugging her blazer back on. “Finish your drink.”

 

He raised his glass to her and pocketed the key card. She could feel his eyes on her as she left the lounge, but she didn’t turn back. Thankfully, an elevator was waiting at the ready and she headed to the ninth floor.

 

In her room, she made sure all personal items were out of sight before she hung up her jacket and kicked off her heels. She considered leaving them on – Hank was tall – but it wouldn’t make much difference lying down anyway. She extinguished most of the lamps in the room, leaving one in the corner on providing just enough light to be comfortable. It was the end of a long week for her, wrapping up an internal affairs investigation that sent several decorated officers to prison and other high-ranking officials to turn in resignations. She needed to decompress.

 

She heard him enter the room while she was in the bathroom washing her hands. He didn’t knock, which she appreciated. She leaned against the door jam as she towel dried and watched as he crossed the room with confidence, bypassing her and heading to wall of windows.

 

“Nice view,” he said.

 

“I hadn’t noticed.”

 

“Come over here.” He inclined his head and held out his hand.

 

She suppressed a sigh of impatience and tossed her hand towel behind her onto the vanity. She didn’t need any overtures on his part, but decided to indulge him for a moment anyhow. She did, however, ignore his outstretched hand and instead, stood beside him to look out across Hyde Park at the twinkling skyline. The London Eye winked in the distance.

 

“Gorgeous,” he said.

 

She glanced at him, but he wasn’t looking out the windows, he was looking at her. She stepped in front of him and slid her hands up inside his jacket, pushing it back off his shoulders. He shook the jacket free from his arms and tossed it onto a chair nearby just as she moved up on her toes and stretched up to kiss his neck. He put his hands on her waist and pulled her hips closer, but she shied away, no intention of letting him have any control.

 

With her hands flat on his chest, she pushed him back towards the bed. When his knees hit the bed, he sat down hard, reaching for her waist again and yanking her towards him to stand between his legs. She grasped his wrists to push him off, but he was already sliding his hands back over her ass and down the backs of her thighs. She relaxed her grip and let him touch her, looking down at him while he looked up at her.

 

She dipped her head just slightly and licked his bottom lip. He chased her tongue back into her mouth and she leaned into his kiss. He tasted like the glass of Scotch she’d left him with, still fresh on his tongue. His fingers tickled the backs of her knees as they reached the hem of her pencil skirt.

 

He pulled his mouth away from hers and turned his head down as he cupped the back of one knee and slid his other hand up the inside of her leg. She watched his hand disappear up her skirt until he squeezed her thigh and she lifted his chin back up.

 

Her eyelids drooped, but she kept them open enough to watch his face as she licked at his mouth. He squeezed her thigh again and tried to inch higher, but he was caught by the tightness of her skirt. She took the plump middle of his bottom lip between her teeth and gave it a stern bite, letting him know that she was in charge. He grunted softly and pulled his head back.

 

“You’re not going to hurt me are you, Sherlock?” he asked.

 

She didn’t answer, choosing to scrape her fingernails up his sides instead and drag his t-shirt up. He reluctantly took his hands off her legs and moved his arms up so she could pull the shirt off and drop it on the floor. She put her hands on his bare shoulders to push him down to the bed, but he was already pulling her blouse out of her skirt and she paused to watch as he deftly opened the buttons from the bottom up.

 

He reached inside her blouse once he had it unbuttoned and splayed his fingers across her back. His hands were warm on her bare skin and she shivered. It threw her off her game a little and she was slow to respond when he opened his mouth over her left breast, scraping his teeth against lace and satin to close down on her nipple. She clutched his hair in surprise and then pulled his head back off of her and he grinned up at her like the Cheshire Cat.

 

“I’m not interested in foreplay,” she said, leaning over and reaching for the snap on his jeans, but he took her hands and held them firmly apart. She felt a flare of anger rise up and she tensed, but he gentled his hold and stroked the backs of her hands with his thumbs, gazing up at her.

 

“What’s your hurry?” he asked.

 

“I didn’t bring you up here for conversation.”

 

“No flattery, no foreplay, no conversation. Any other rules I should know about, Sherlock?”

 

Her eyes narrowed with slight annoyance and she reached for the snap of his jeans again, but again, he caught her hands and this time held firm. She glared at him, sending a warning out through her eyes that she was well-trained, and wouldn’t hesitate to knock him on his ass.

 

“You want me to just shut up and fuck you,” he said. “I know why I’m here, I know what you want. We’ll get there. You look like you’ve had a rough week, Sherlock, and I don’t have anywhere else to be. I’d like to take a little time to appreciate the beautiful woman in front of me. Is that so terrible?”

 

The gravelly tone in his voice moved through her, only increasing the ache she felt deep inside. Why he couldn’t just accept this as a quick fuck, she didn’t know, but she lacked the willpower at the moment to tell him to leave. Her body wanted his and putting a stop to it because he wanted to take a little time was absolutely out of the question. She forced herself to relent a little and shook her hands free from his, reaching behind her back to unzip her skirt. It pooled at her feet and she kicked it away before stepping back between his legs.

 

He took hold of her hips as he brought his mouth back to her breast. This time her chest flushed with heat when his tongue slipped under the lace edge of her bra and circled her nipple. She rolled her neck and arched her back, pushing her breast more fully against his mouth.

 

He moved his hands back and cupped her ass, thumbing the line of her lace thong where it ran over her hips to the dimple just below her sacrum. Her knees weakened just a little and she moved up onto the bed to straddle his thighs, holding on to his shoulders as she settled in his lap. As she sank down, he lifted his head to kiss her and raised his hand to squeeze the previously ignored breast.

 

If she was going to allow him to touch her, she figured she might as well allow herself to touch him as well. She slid her hands down from his shoulders, over his pectorals and down his washboard abs. She moved over his sides and up his back. He had a well-maintained body. A swimmer’s body. Lithe. Defined muscle tone in the chest and shoulders. His abdomen was tight and lean.

 

Distracted, she was caught off guard when he tore his mouth away stood, lifting her with him to turn and lay her back on the bed. He hovered over her on hands and knees and she moved up on her elbows, wiggling backwards and trying to get out from under him.

 

“Relax, Sherlock,” he said, placing his hand softly onto her stomach. He traced her belly button with the light touch of his thumb and then slid his hand across her stomach and around her hip. He pulled her back the few inches she’d gained and she pressed her bent knees against his thighs to go no further.

 

He still hovered over her, hands pressed to the bed near her elbows. She tipped her chin back and he lowered his head to touch his lips to hers, giving her soft, lingering kisses until she laid back under him and took his head in her hands, deepening her kiss as he lowered his hips to rest his weight on her.

 

She could feel the hard length of him through his jeans and after a few teasing thrusts of his hips, she moaned softly. By nature, she was not very vocal during sex, preferring to keep her pleasure private. Rarely was overwhelmed enough to cry out, but the anticipation was getting to her.

 

Her lips were swollen and she was hot and throbbed all over by the time he pulled away and kissed his way down her body. He backed out of the cradle of her thighs to kneel on the floor and then pulled her towards him, hooking his arms under her so that her legs were draped over his shoulders, heels slipping against his back.

 

She closed her eyes and bit her lip as he ran his nose along her pubic bone, just above the scrap of lace that kept her from being fully exposed to him. He licked the crease of her thigh and tongued her panties aside to dip into her folds. He hummed appreciatively and the reverberation heightened her arousal.

 

She appreciated that he didn’t stop to ask if she was all right, if she liked it, if she wanted something else. He wasn’t tentative, nor was he aggressive. He had skills and he wasn’t afraid to use them. He built her up first with his mouth, then with the curve of two long, skilled fingers.

 

Her fingers slipped through his soft hair and she rubbed his scalp encouragingly. She was taut as a bowstring, ready for the snap and release at any moment. She moaned in protest when he moved away from her, but it was only to slide her panties off and she wanted to slap that bloody grin off his face for knowing what he’d reduced her to.

 

His tongue swirled an apology inside her as his thumb pressed circles outside. Her hips bucked softly and she gave a quiet gasp when she finally broke. She clutched at the duvet as her toes curled. She was quite literally, dripping with pleasure, and Hank seemed determined to lap up every bit of it. His mouth was still on her, but his tongue was no longer probing, simply laving, running up her folds with long strokes and sucking her wetness into his mouth.

 

When her body stopped trembling, he turned his head and laid his cheek against her thigh, looking up at her. He had the audacity to look pleased with himself, but she was just euphoric enough not to be bothered by it.

 

She sat up and he kissed her hip and thigh while she unbuttoned the cuffs of her blouse to take it off. It took her a few moments and she had to ignore him as he mouthed his way across her stomach and up towards her breasts. She grabbed the back of his head and yanked him off her by his hair. He may be skilled, he may like slow, but she wanted what she brought him here for.

 

He smiled and sat back on his heels before he got to his feet and unbuttoned his jeans. She tossed her blouse aside and unhooked her bra as he stepped out of his pants. He filled out the front of his grey boxer-briefs nicely and she could see the outline of his erection straining up against the thin cotton.

 

“You have amazing breasts,” he said.

 

“Top drawer of the nightstand,” she answered, ignoring the compliment and glancing behind her.

 

She tossed the pillows off the bed and pulled the duvet back as he opened the box of condoms in her drawer. She walked across the bed on her knees towards him and pulled his body against hers, kissing him wetly and deeply while sliding her hand inside his underwear.

 

He was bigger than average, but it wouldn’t be a problem. She could handle the girth, but she’d have to be careful with the length. She could feel he was nicely groomed, which pleased her. He was hot and hard in her hand and she gave him a few firm strokes though it was obviously unnecessary.

 

He pulled his mouth from hers and nuzzled her neck. “Finished checking for concealed weapons, Lady Detective?” he whispered in her ear.

 

She took her hand out of his boxers and then pushed them off his hips. He ripped open the foil packet with his teeth, and she took it from him as she stepped off the bed. He sat down and then lay back, watching as she rolled the condom down his shaft and into place.

 

He reached for her hips as she crawled up over him, but this time she pinned his hands down to the bed and didn’t let him up. She’d afforded him far too much freedom with her body that she wanted back. The bastard refused to play by her rules, however, and as soon as she’d let go to guide him inside her, his hands were rubbing her hipbones as she took him inch by inch.

 

She let out a sigh of both contentment and frustration. The penetration was deep and complete. She placed her hands on his chest, leaning onto him while she took a few moments to adjust. Her nails dug crescent moons into his skin.

 

She moved slowly, lifting her hips and sinking down, shifting to find just the right angle. He rubbed his hands against the front of her thighs and the sides of her legs and she had to admire his patience. There was sweat on his brow and in the hollow of his throat and glistening off the sparse hair on his chest, but he didn’t try to quicken her pace or thrust into her even though the fight against the urge was apparent.

 

Pausing, she placed both hands, one at a time, next to his head and leaned closer to him. “I thought you were going to fuck me,” she said.

 

“You were doing such a good job of it on your own I didn’t want to interrupt.”

 

“Shut up, Hank.”

 

“Shut up and fuck you?”

 

“Shut up and fuck me.”

 

He lifted his head and kissed her soundly on the mouth before pulling her hips up and slipping out of her. She growled her disapproval as he lifted one of her legs off him and moved out from under her. He brought her up to her knees and urged her forward as he kneeled behind her, draping himself over her back to take her arms and stretch them out to grab the top of the padded headrest bolted to the wall.

 

He widened her legs apart with his knees and kissed the line of her spine as he rubbed her knuckles. She tossed a glance over her shoulder and he moved her hair to the side to suck on the back of her neck, just below her ear.

 

“Don’t let go, Sherlock,” he said, sliding his hands down her arms and around to cup her breasts. He massaged them gently, only taking one hand away briefly to open her up and slide inside.

 

She arched her back and squeezed the headrest, holding herself steady as he pumped into her. His thighs slapped against the back of hers and the fine, coarse hair on his legs made her skin tingle. She dropped her head, panting roughly as he rolled her nipples between his fingers. Her heart pounded and her skin prickled with sweat, but the ache she felt inside showed no signs of being quenched.

 

“Harder,” she breathed.

 

He took his hands off her breasts and gripped her hips. He slammed into her with enough force to knock her forward and she let go of the headrest with one hand to catch herself. Her arms began to tremble with exertion and Hank reached around to touch her.

 

“Oh, fuck,” she breathed, and her whole body shivered with release, flushing with heat and flooding out of her all at once. She whimpered as she gasped and he caught her before her arms gave out, pulling her back to his chest as he sat back on his heels. Her head fell back and rolled against his shoulder.

 

Both of his arms were crossed over her body and he continued to thrust up into her as he licked the sweat from her neck. She gripped his strong thighs and felt the muscles quiver under her hands.

 

“Shit, I’m gonna come,” he said.

 

She felt his body tense and he held one, two, three thrusts into her with increasingly longer counts until he sighed and relaxed against her. She could feel the rapid thump of his heart against her back and their combined heat and sweat made the air humid. The room reeked of sex and she breathed it in appreciatively. It had been a long time since she’d felt so sated.

 

Hank lifted her hips just enough to slip out of her and she felt disappointed at the loss. He maneuvered out from beneath her and she turned to recline back and watch him walk away to the bathroom. He had a nice, firm ass and she regretted that she hadn’t felt it for herself.

 

She lay back, closed her eyes, and listened to the sounds from the bathroom. Water running. Toilet flushing. More water. He would need to leave so she could clean herself up and go to bed. She needed to be checked out by nine and on a flight to Wales.

 

She didn’t hear him come back into the room, but she felt him sit beside her and then a warm washcloth against her thighs. Her eyes flew open and she moved up on her elbows. He smiled at her and she stared at him. The intimacy was appalling to her.

 

“I’ve an early flight tomorrow,” she said.

 

He smiled again and pulled the top sheet over her body. He placed a soft kiss on her cheek before he stood, grabbing his underwear from the floor. He returned to the bathroom and when he came back out, his boxers were on and he went around the room picking up his clothes and putting them back on. He sat down next to her again to lace his shoes.

 

“I don’t have any delusions of ever seeing you again,” he said, glancing up at her as he finished with his first shoe. “But, if you’re ever in LA, you should look me up.”

 

She said nothing and he tied his second lace and then stood. He crossed the room to shrug his coat on and he stood at the window for a few moments, admiring the view again. He pulled her room key from his pocket and showed it to her before he set it down on the bureau.

 

“Good night, Hank,” she said, as he opened the door to leave.

 

“Good night, Sherlock.”

 

The End

 

 


End file.
